


roses and embalming fluids

by isoundlikeadad (Tea_and_Sugar)



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: M/M, Romance, but like grunge 18th century romance, but only after a typical amount of angst from our idiot scientist, i wrote this during quarantine lmao, they sit down and have a Chat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25731574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_and_Sugar/pseuds/isoundlikeadad
Summary: Limbs tear at him from all sides. Blood on his shirt, on his hands. Heart in his hands. Not his own. Darkness looms and falls over him like a tsunami, and he’s choking on it. The taste of embalming fluid and the smell of rotting corpses. Blood on his shirt. Rose in his hands. And the eyes, the eyes he chose. The eyes he stole. The eyes he gave to his creation. Cutting through the dark, the taste, the smell, the feeling. The gaze cuts straight through him like a scalpel to the skin.He wakes thrashing in his bed for the sixth night that week. Pressing a hand to his sweaty forehead, he peels the linens off of himself, gets out of bed, and stumbles to the window. He grips the sill in a daze and stares fixedly out into the street.Looking for what? someone- something- that will never show. Never again will the creature darken the streets of England.The creator stands alone.
Relationships: Victor Frankenstein/Frankenstein's Creature
Comments: 2
Kudos: 74





	roses and embalming fluids

_Limbs tear at him from all sides. Blood on his shirt, on his hands. Heart in his hands. Not his own. Darkness looms and falls over him like a tsunami, and he’s choking on it. The taste of embalming fluid and the smell of rotting corpses. Blood on his shirt. Rose in his hands. And the eyes, the eyes he chose. The eyes he stole. The eyes he gave to his creation. Cutting through the dark, the taste, the smell, the feeling. The gaze cuts straight through him like a scalpel to the skin._

He wakes thrashing in his bed for the sixth night that week. Pressing a hand to his sweaty forehead, he peels the linens off of himself, gets out of bed, and stumbles to the window. He grips the sill in a daze and stares fixedly out into the street. 

Looking for what? someone- some _thing_ \- that will never show. Never again will the creature darken the streets of England. 

The creator stands alone.

—-

He should have died. Many times after he’d miraculously recovered from his illness, the captain would saunter into his cabin and guffaw, as if he had somehow contributed to the recovery. No, that was a miracle of another sort. 

He’d tossed and turned, body still sallowed, mind still weakened. _Why?_ pondering day and night, eating only when in company. In the witching hours, he would stare at the walls of the cabin, racking his brain for answers. 

_Why?_

Practically unconscious, nearing the end, he’d almost missed the encounter altogether. The first mate had left the room, assuming him dead. It was just him and his monster. His demon. It stared after the first mate, then crossed the room towards where he lay. 

He was resigned to death. Let it be so. If the thing took his life, so be it- ashes to ashes and dust to dust. It was repayment for his own wrongdoing. 

The thing had leaned over him, long, dark hair framing that pale, stony face. A hand on the bed, keeping balance. In his ear, a whisper-

_I forgive you._

Victor could not stop his eyes from widening, nor the rattling gasp his lungs compelled him to draw. 

It felt him move. Pulled away, with eyes fixed on victor’s own. Stare so fierce and so somber, it seemed to dim the light filtering in from the porthole into the cabin. And deep inside, he felt something shift. 

He shot up in the cot, trembling. He had not been able to move for weeks. Desperate, fingers scrabbling at his own body, he stared back, tried to speak-

But the creature had turned on its heel and left before he could ask. 

_Why?_

And here he was again. Awake in the night, feeling like the last man alive. He hadn’t been able to refrain from asking after the monster when the ship had made it back to england. 

“What? Oh, that lad! He mentioned something about studying in... Persia, was it? Who knows? Hangin’ ‘round like a ghost, it’s probably better off he’s gone. Yessir, he must’ve been your bad luck! Count your lucky stars, that’s what I say!”

Victor had smiled weakly and left nearly immediately. He hadn’t even known the creature could speak. He had barely spared it a glance, and it had spared his life.

Victor slumped against the windowsill, throat constricting. He knew the truth now. They had called the wrong being ‘monster’. He was the despicable one, creating it in the first place.

It had looked at him with hope and fear, just seconds after being given life, and he’d run. Foolish! Incorrigible! He had played deity and paid the price. He’d dedicated years of his life to the thing; and yet it was never truly about the monster.

It was about himself.

Looking in the mirror-glass, seeing a failure! Turned away from university after university, scoffed at. So he made life from death, called himself a god! 

Looking back now, it was unsurprising that his creation had turned against him. Hadn’t he himself turned against the monster before it even knew consciousness? Before it knew good, evil, and whatever lurked between?

A sound in the street below. 

Victor froze, hand over his mouth. He didn’t dare make a sound. After years of running and plotting and stealing, such things were instinct.

Quietly as he could manage, Victor peered over the sill- 

There. Right there in the middle of the road, wearing a long coat, hair unbound and even longer than Victor remembered. 

His monster, alive as he could be be, stared right back at him. Deja vu seared him. Those eyes, the same as in his nightmares. This time, however, there was a grim face to accompany them. 

Heart thudding a staccato in his chest, Victor pressed against the wall beneath the window. The emotions he’d attempted to tamp down rose again in full force- self loathing, fear, and... he closed his eyes. Something that felt like hatred. Somehow, it almost felt like how he’d felt with Emily, yet the opposite of fondness. It roiled in his gut, took him back to those nights in the laboratory where he’d toiled over his creation-

A knock resounded from below him, and he shuddered in spite of himself. Forgiveness ended tonight. 

He forced himself to stand and walked unsteadily to the door of his bedchamber, hastened to the stairs and found himself at the door. He imagined he could feel the presence of the creature just beyond the heavy wood. 

Steeling himself, he undid the locks and pulled opened the door. 

Victor felt his heart rate inexplicably accelerate. The creature loomed over him, which was nothing new, but something felt entirely different.

They stood there for an awkward moment until, _world of worlds,_ the creature spoke. 

“May I... come in?”

Victor stared at the thing for a moment, reminiscing about checking its vocal cords for functionality, then blinked furiously to rid the thought and stepped back, indicating entrance. 

Gracefully, it stepped over the threshold and waited until Victor had closed the door, then followed him soundlessly to the sitting room. 

Victor gestured wordlessly to an armchair and set about lighting a fire. When the sparks lit the kindling, he stood and crossed the room to a chair near the creature. 

For a tense moment they sat and observed the flames slowly devouring the wood. 

Victor felt strange calm as he finally uttered the question that had hounded him day and night for nearly 19 months. 

“Why?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the monster turn its face to him. 

“...What do you mean?”

He sighed, gathered his courage, and met the gaze of his tormented creation. 

“Why. Why would you forgive me? I...”

He trailed off helplessly, searching the face of the monster next to him. It was impassively calm.

“I am- I am despicable. I should not have given you something you never asked for. I stole from the dead, I stole from god, I...”

Shaking in spite of the fire, he continued.

“I don’t understand your forgiveness. That is what I am saying. I don’t understand it and I-“ he grimaces- “I do not deserve it.” 

It was silent but for the popping of the wood.

Victor risked a glance at towards the monster.

It was glaring at him, brow furrowed, eyes shining cat-like in the dim glow. It spoke.

“You do not get to say what I feel, or tell me what I am, or what I can and cannot do. I am my own man.” 

Man. It tastes strange in Victor’s mouth. 

“I went to peru, and under the name Edward Frankenstein, I studied. I worked hard, and...”

He laughed bitterly. It was a smooth, refined sound.

“I tried to assimilate. I’m sure you can tell, but as time passes, my skin becomes less- how did you put it- yellowish and bruised. I progress as a normal mortal. I appear to _be_ a normal mortal, save for my height, but it matters not. I attempted to study science, then philosophy, but I quitted the university and returned here, to England, out of frustration. You see, in my studies, I came across the same theme, again and again.”

He paused and looked at Victor, who sat watching the ‘man’, wholly enraptured by conversation with his creation. 

“No matter what I researched, no matter the book, it always came back to the same thing: passion.”

Victor jolted imperceptibly. 

_Passion._

“Crimes of passion, passionate study, passion for- for ones’ work, passion for the arts, passion for theological work...”

His words seemed to spiral right into Victor’s very soul. 

“Passion, other known as love.”

It- _he-_ glanced away, conflictive emotions passing across his face. Victor felt slightly dizzy as it all clicked into place. It was so, so wrong. He _had_ loved his work, had committed crimes in the name of it, had worked days at a time over the being, who was now sitting in his parlor. He still begged forgiveness for it all. And yet...

“Passion.” 

It slipped out unbidden. The man looked at Victor with trepidation.

“Edward, was it?”

A nod.

“I believe an apology on my part is what’s needed. You see... I was obsessed with my wor-“ Edward was watching earnestly-  
“with. With you.” Victor thought he saw a slight coloring on those high cheekbones.

“I was obsessive, and desperate to prove myself after being turned away from many schools of science. I had something in mind that was absolutely obscene. I knew it was, everyone I confided in knew it was. I still went through with it.”

“When you came to life that night, I was so afraid. I was absolutely terrified of the way... the way I felt. And the way you were looking at me.”

Edward was totally still and silent beside him. Victor forged on.

“The passion I had felt for my work. The passion I felt for science, for doing whatever I thought was needed to complete you; yes, it was all still there, but different.” Victor felt his hands tremble slightly and clenched them in fists.

“It was passionate love. I- it was love. In all honesty, it disgusted me, and you surprised me; I couldn’t handle it, so I just...”

Edward finished his sentence.

“Ran off.” 

Victor sighed. 

“Yes. I left you. Which was wrong. You have a capable, intelligent brain- I made sure of it- and your studying and quick development prove it, but that’s not an excuse. I am deeply sorry for giving you what you never asked for, and-“

“Victor.”

His name. His own name. Something about the way his name sounded...

“Ye-“ he coughed- “yes?”

“I did not know what love was until I was out in the world, away from you. I saw passion, and I saw love, and I saw how I felt for you.”

Victor felt rooted to the spot. The fire was dwindling, and he wondered in the back of his mind if his companion was cold.

“I did not want to love you! I _hated_ you! You... You left me, you ran from me, and you pitted me against the police and your lover, and I hated you for it. I decided to forgive you just to placate my own guilt for killing her. I am sorry about that. I... I was.”

He ran a hand through his hair, distressed.

“I was _jealous._ Unbelievably, I was jealous. Why? Murder is unacceptable, I...” trailing off, he shook his head. 

“Telling you I forgave you was spur of the moment, but heartfelt. The relief I felt when you sat up was tremendous. And I have tried to forget you, to stay away from England. But even as I studied, I saw what I felt for you and I had to return.”

Suddenly, he straightened up and turned to Victor, eyes strangely bright. Carefully, so carefully, he reached out and placed one huge hand on Victor’s knee. 

Victor shivered involuntarily. 

“I have tried to deny it, Victor. I have killed, I have run away, I have slaved away for knowledge- but the truth is still hanging over me.”

Victor leaned forward slightly, engrossed in the monologue.

“Victor. I know you feel it too.”

Victor looked away for a moment, but in time met Edward’s eyes. 

“I do.”

Edward’s hand tightened slightly on his creator’s knee. 

“Then I will say it. I am... In love with you. From the day I was made, I felt it. I cannot abstain from you, Victor, so please...”

Victor held his breath as Edward lowered his head and rested it on Victor’s shoulder. 

The dawn’s rosy fingers touched the window and colored the dying embers a bright, lurid pink.

“Please do not turn me away again.”

Victor gently pushed at the giant man until they were face to face. Gently, he spoke- honestly, face open- 

“Never again.”

Edward laughed in relief, and Victor watched happiness enliven his greatest creation with awe. 

Here grows the rose amidst bloody corpses.

**Author's Note:**

> hmm i hope you enjoyed! i guess not many people go looking for Frankenstein fic but thanks for reading if you're here!!


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